


The Spirit of Christmas Past

by tehta



Category: Nimona (Webcomic)
Genre: Christmas Angst, Drunk Dialing, Humor, M/M, Science, The off-the-shoulder look
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 09:29:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2223993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tehta/pseuds/tehta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arch-nemeses Blackheart and Goldenloin are haunted by the spirits of Christmas past. Actual drinkable spirits play a significant role, as well.</p><p>(Incidentally, this story is based not only on the comic itself, but also on the following tweet of the author’s: <i>"i'm laughing thinking about Goldenloin having Ballister in his contacts list as "Do not call this" and still drunk dialing him all the time"</i>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spirit of Christmas Past

While the heat of the bunsen burner could not quite mask the chill that had permeated the empty halls of the fortress, the small circle of warmth and light created by the tiny flame made the lab the most bearable spot in the building. Besides, the delicate task of measuring out deadly chemicals engaged most of Ballister’s attention, pushing his awareness of the season to the very back of his mind.

He might have been able to put it out of his mind entirely, if not for the recurring and insistent ringing of the communicator in the study.

Turning the damned thing off was an option, of course. Just not a very good one: he had reason to suspect that, once he was at the console, the temptation to accept the call and give Goldenloin a piece of his mind would prove overwhelming.

Because, seriously, the whole thing was ludicrous. Christmases, birthdays, assorted holidays and anniversaries… if Goldenloin insisted on drinking to excess on such occasions, why couldn’t he do Balister the favour of getting drunk enough to pass out? True, this would not be healthy, but then neither was drunk-dialing one’s arch-nemesis. Repeatedly. In the apparent hope that he would pick up eventually, if not on the third call, then on the twentieth.

This particular attempt was the... thirteenth of the day, Ballister estimated.

Anyway, the situation wasn’t particularly healthy for Ballister, either. At the very least, it seemed to be impairing his sanity: he had recently caught himself worrying whenever Goldenloin -- the man who had destroyed both his life and his favourite limb -- missed one of his potential days. Or even when the irritating calls started a bit later than expected, as they had that evening.

At least the thirteenth call was finally coming to a close, as the ringing sound broke off with the faint click that meant the answering machine had engaged. Ballister breathed a sigh of relief, anticipating the silence that would soon follow. Goldenloin never left messages. He did not have the guts.

"Season's greetings, Bal-- Lord Blackheart. Sir Goldenloin speaking. Are you there?"

A test tube slipped from Ballister’s gloved fingers. He caught it just before it hit the workbench, and set it aside carefully.

"Are you ignoring me?” Goldenloin’s voice continued from the other room, plaintive and only slightly slurred. “I hope you are. Because if you are not home, then you must be up to something. Carrying out evil deeds. Advancing nefarious plans. Perpetuating crimes. Honestly, Ballister, at Christmas?"

With a sigh, Ballister turned off the burner, then the gas main. Any leftover heat dissipated almost at once, prompting him to wrap his cloak tightly around himself as he made his way out of the lab.

"Although I suppose crime is how you got those Christmas oranges. The crime of theft, I mean. Because it is not as if you could have-- But never mind. You must be wondering why I called. The thing is, I wanted to ask you to refrain from evil deeds. At least for tonight, I mean. Because I seem to be-- Because I do not feel quite up to foiling you, at the moment."

The study was even colder than Ballister had expected. Up on the floating, glowing screen, Goldenloin sat hunched and silent, looking down into the gaudy goblet cupped in his hands. A strand of bright hair slid down, across his face; he brushed it back.

"Also, I wanted to talk. To tell you that I-- You are a terrible influence, Ballister. You always have been. I see that so clearly now. How did you think I would feel when I finally figured it all out, about my stocking? You turned me into an unwitting criminal. An accomplice, a recipient of stolen goods. All so terribly wrong."

He slumped down further, his festive, dark green tunic slipping off one shoulder.

"Though, to be fair, kids really should get oranges and things at Christmas. All kids, not just the normal ones. And that is what I did today: orphanage gift distribution. My own idea, actually, not that anyone disagreed. I mean, it is so good for my public image! All hail the noble Sir Goldenloin!”

His hand seemed a little unsteady as he raised the goblet towards the screen in a half-hearted salute, brought it to his mouth, and drank deeply.

“And all hail his-- Ballister, why did you have to turn evil? If only you had stayed good, you could have come with me. Though I suppose you did, in a way. I kept imagining I had just missed you. Everywhere. In the corridors, in the cold dorms, in the dining room with its burnt milk smell...”

Right, that smell! Ballister had forgotten all about it, but now everything came back to him: the tepid, burnt milk with cold noodles; the unidentifiable meats; the stale bread, judged too hard even for horses--and also bright Ambrosius, seated on the hard bench beside him, full of laughter and of an infectious conviction that the food was actually completely delicious. “Fit for a nobleman like my father,” he had said once, after--

No, no, no, that was quite enough! Ballister had to end this farce. He reached for the DISCONNECT button, only to notice that he was still wearing his chemical-stained gloves. He could not touch delicate electronics with something like that; he began tearing at the gloves angrily.

Goldenloin, meanwhile, continued his idiotic monologue. “Anyway, if you had joined me, you could have watched the kids unwrap their new toys, and seen how they-- Ah. There was a toy back then too, of course. A knight figurine; the one Garamond later threw in the well. But the figurine was all right, I think. Not stolen property, anyway. Only... why did you pass your toy along to me? I suppose you decided you had outgrown it? You were always a bit too serious for play. Or perhaps you were good back then, but then why-- No, I just do not understand you, Ballister. I suppose I never did, even if I always-- I always--”

One of Ballister’s gloves was off now, but the second had caught on the metal edge of his forearm. He took a deep breath, and smoothed it out before starting another attempt at removal.

“There were hints, I can see that now. Clues to the evil path you would choose. The way you insisted that many of our laws were arbitrary… Always excepting the laws of science, of course. And then, the way you-- A true Knight should keep pure, I now realize, to minimize distractions. It’s not even all that hard, I find. My duties are engrossing enough. But sometimes I remember-- Do you know they have printed up a new wanted poster of you, for the new year? Featuring your new haircut?”

While Goldenloin sighed and toyed with his goblet, Ballister finished peeling off his glove. Flexing his now-bare fingers, he reached for DISCONNECT once more.

”Anyway,” said Goldenloin, snapping out of his reverie, “sometimes I see you, and then I remember how you always had this… power. No good person has it, I think. Nobody at the Institute, anyway. Even before I decided on chastity, I never felt any-- And it must be this dark power of yours that makes me-- that made me question things. When I was around you all the time, I did not have my current… contentment. My current certainty. I never fully trusted the Institute, or its laws. Instead, I fully trusted-- I fully-- Oh God.”

The goblet fell from Goldenloin’s grasp, hitting the floor with a metallic clang as he buried his face in his hands.

Oh God, indeed. Why had Ballister hesitated for so long? Was he still, after all these years, hoping for something: an apology, a rational reason? Hadn’t he learned that it would always boil down to these vague, absurd accusations, and to unwelcome, painful, ill-defined feelings? In any case, this had gone on long enough. His fingers hovered over the console only briefly before clicking on CONNECT.

“Goldenloin,” he said.

“Ballister!” Goldenloin lifted his face towards his camera, hands still tangled in his hair. “You are-- When did you-- Have you just come back from a heist?"

His eyes, unfocused at first, quickly found Ballister’s own, and took on an intense, inquiring look that seemed to ask a hundred questions -- most of which clearly had nothing to do with heists. And then, he just kept staring, silently attentive as if he were trying to memorize Ballister’s face. His lips parted slightly; his breathing slowed and deepened.

Ballister’s throat felt tight. He cleared it impatiently.

"No, no heist tonight. And..." Was he being foolishly weak? Surely not: after all, it was Christmas, the time of giving. "No heist tomorrow, either. Sleep it off, Ambrosius."

And with that, he willed his right arm to reach forward and press DISCONNECT.

**Author's Note:**

> I. Many thanks to LiveOakWithMoss, Wulfila, and Dilly for their comments!
> 
> II. Some of you may be wondering why I was reading the author’s old tweets. It was for research purposes: I wanted to know whether she is OK with fanfic, and also how old the guys are supposed to be at various points in the comic. Anyway, my research failed, so I ended up asking my questions on tumblr, and GETTING AN ANSWER which I will now post here for, er, posterity:  
>  _1\. I am completely in favor of fanfic!_  
>  _2\. Ballister and Goldenloin are probably in their late thirties? Goldenloin is one or two years younger than Ballister. They were in their early-to-mid twenties during the joust. In the special, I’m gonna say Goldenloin was 11 and Ballister was 13, with Goldenloin being small for his age (and with me not really knowing how kids’ ages work)._  
>  So we have the author’s blessing! How cool is that? Also, wow, those two were nemeses for a very long time.
> 
> III. I love comments, including concrit.


End file.
